


don't leave me this way (i can't survive without your sweet love)

by elizabitchbennet



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Moulin Rouge! (2001)
Genre: Episode: s03e08-09 Human Nature/Family of Blood, F/M, Moulin Rouge AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 04:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabitchbennet/pseuds/elizabitchbennet
Summary: There’s a reason that John Smith sympathized so easily with the brokenhearted Joan Redfern. Or, if John had consciously remembered Rose, what would the Chameleon Arch provide as a backstory for their relationship? Moulin Rouge AU leading into Human Nature/Family of Blood.





	don't leave me this way (i can't survive without your sweet love)

The Doctor was restless. Nothing new of course, restlessness being a sort of permanent state for him, but after a week of floating aimlessly through the vortex his pent up energy was becoming something of a problem for his ship. There was only so much downtime he could take and the TARDIS, who took the brunt of his excess energy in the form of his (often unwarranted and unwanted) repairs was eager for a reprieve. As he popped under the grating, sonic screwdriver clenched between his teeth, and began to fiddle with a mass of wires she made her sentiments known with a small surge of electricity to his fingers.

The Doctor yelped and stuffed the offending digits into his mouth with an indignant look. “Ow! What was that for?” The ship’s hum intensified and he got the vague impression of being scolded. The TARDIS pushed him to look around at all the half-built, abandoned “improvement” schemes that littered the underside of the console, and he got the point.

“Alright, I get it! No more work, you didn’t need to shock me.” The TARDIS thrummed in the back of his mind giving the overall impression that, yes, she did.

Grumbling, the Doctor hoisted himself out from under the console, plunking few switches and buttons on the console with his uninjured hand as he set up the randomizer. His ship, as usual, was right. He didn’t know where he wanted to go, but he needed to run, to feel a new world spin beneath his feet.

“Martha!” He called, still setting up for dematerialization. “Shake a leg! We’re off!”

His voice echoed down the TARDIS hallways and faded to silence. When a moment passed and there were no approaching footsteps to be heard, the Doctor rolled his eyes.  _Probably down for a kip. Humans._

It wouldn’t do, now he was up and raring to go.  _She’ll have to do with a little less beauty rest_ , he thought, starting down the hall towards his companion’s room.  _Or a little less studying._  Honestly, he didn’t really see the point in her poring over those old-school twenty-first century textbooks in the first place when he had an infinitely more advanced library at her disposal. Of course, there was the matter of her passing her tests, but where was the point in  _those_  when half of what was on them was wrong?

His internal dialogue carried him about halfway to Martha’s room when a faint melody echoed through Sub-Hallway E, catching his attention. Hanging a right, he followed the sound, gradually coming to stop outside the media room when he heard faint musical strains leaking out from the (mostly soundproof) door. The music was muffled but unavoidably recognizable and memories slammed into him like a runaway lorry.

_Bickering, always bickering about film choice. He argues her with her pick (mostly for show), she bats her eyes (mostly for show), he relents (he always does, how can he not?). Blanket nest, giggling, the taste of her skin under sugary sour crystals when she feeds him a gummy worm. A warm haze, a hand to hold, a person to hold. Fingers greasy with popcorn butter tickling him awake, warm brown eyes inches away from his face._

_“You fell asleep! Mr. High-and-Mighty took a nap through the best number!”_

_“I was resting my eyes.”_

_“Sure.”_

_“I was!”_

_“Yeah, yeah, save it. We’ll finish the movie tomorrow.”_

_“Rooooose, I was just resting my eyes, we can finish the movie.”_

_“This was my night to pick, I’m not having you snooze through my movie– an Oscar-winner, by the way– when I managed to keep alert for all four-hours of that ridiculous documentary last week. We can watch it tomorrow when you’re rested up. Besides,” a cheeky flash of tongue. “You should sleep while you can. Gonna need your strength.”_

_“And why’s that?”_

_“Uh uh. You promised tomorrow was the day.”_

_“Tomorrow? What’re we doing tomorrow?”_

_“Nope. I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not gonna work. We’re visiting my mum, Doctor._ And _you’re coming to tea. No, don’t make that face, I’ve got a sack full of laundry to do and that little thing…whatsit called…”_

_“Bazoolium.”_

_“Bazoolium! I’ve got laundry to do and bazoolium to deliver.”_

He swallowed painfully around the lump in his throat and his hands clenched at his thighs. Another chord hit, spurring him to push open the door.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the enormous screen dominating a wall at its far end where a young Ewan McGregor cradled Nicole Kidman on a Parisian rooftop. Absently, he notes that the place has changed since he’s last been in here. The film projection is as large as ever, but where a year ago the media center had been filled with bean bags and blankets and soft-cushy pillows for fort building it now overwhelmingly resembled a theater out of the 1940s: formal, elegant, and stiff.

Smack in the middle of the theater Martha Jones sat with her feet propped on the seat in front of her, open medical textbook lying forgotten in her lap as she looked up at the screen. The Doctor cleared his throat, but it was to no avail as his companion stared unblinkingly at the actors who were singing, dewy-eyed and earnest, certain as anything that their love was unshakeable.

The Doctor’s cheek twitched and his stomach curdled as he tried to tamp down on the cocktail of anger and bitterness that was rising in his chest. He wouldn’t look at the film. He wouldn’t, couldn’t. They hadn’t finished it, hadn’t had the chance–

The Doctor inhaled sharply through his nose and the TARDIS, taking in his sudden shift in mood, was quick to pause the film and throw on the lights. Martha jolted in surprise, textbook clattering to the floor.

“Martha,” the Doctor said, doing his best to force a smile into his voice and onto his face. “C’mon, up you get. Whole universe out there waiting to be explored, time and space wait for no man. Or woman. Or Time Lord.”

Martha turned to face him with a groan. “Doctor, c’mon, I was only half done. And I’ve all this reading left to do!” She pulled the book from the aisle floor. “One more hour, I’ll finish my chapter and we can be off.” Martha bit her lip and gave him a small smile. “If you’re bored while I read, you could watch the rest with me–”

“No.” Martha shrunk back a bit. It came out sharp, sharper than he meant it to be, sharper than Martha deserved, but the Doctor couldn’t help it.

“You sure? It’s a great film, really–”

“No, Martha. I’m not interested.”

“Okay.” It was disappointed, a little sad, and a pang of guilt cut through the Doctor. He cleared his throat.

“Listen, we’ve been cooped up in the vortex for over a week,” he said, softer, trying again for light and casual. “You’ve done plenty of studying, it’s time for some fun.” He glanced distastefully at the screen where the fictional couple stood frozen in the middle of their ballad. “Your work and… _”_ he had to force the title out, “ _Moulin Rouge_  will be here when you get back.”

She didn’t move and the Doctor fought the urge to fidget.

“C’mon,” he pressed. “You can finish the movie tomorrow.” The words shouldn’t have left a bad taste in his mouth, but they did. He twisted his lips into what he hoped resembled a smile more than a grimace.

Martha looked at him for a quiet beat before returning the smile and pulling herself up, grabbing a black leather jacket that she had slung over a neighboring chair.

As they made their way out into the hall and towards the console room, she asked, “So where are we going?”

For the first time since stepping foot in the media center, the Doctor smiled easily. “No idea! Bit fun that way innit? Could land on a planet, an asteroid, a space station, winter, summer, wet, dry, green, brown, blue, pink– infinite possibilities!”

–

_“Get down!”_

_“Did they see you?”_

_“I don’t know!”_

_“But did they see you?”_

_“I was too busy running!”_

_“Martha, it’s important: did they see your face?”_

_“No, they couldn’t have.”_

_“Off we go.”_

 


End file.
